


Unyielding

by Ernestin3, HeyJude19



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Auror Harry Potter, Co-workers, Dueling, Dueling Partners, F/M, Friendship, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Ministry of Magic (Harry Potter), Not Epilogue Compliant, Partners to Lovers, Romance, Wand lore, Wands
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-23
Updated: 2020-08-23
Packaged: 2021-03-06 20:54:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,253
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26065309
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ernestin3/pseuds/Ernestin3, https://archiveofourown.org/users/HeyJude19/pseuds/HeyJude19
Summary: Do you yield?She hated uttering that phrase whenever she bested Draco, but it was the standard protocol for ending a duel wherein both participants remained conscious. Hermione could count the instances on one hand in the four years they’d been partners that one of them had been Stunned.Do you yield?It clawed at her. It ate at her to demand this of another person when her own wand carried with it such a conceptually contrary and dubious description. Unyielding.No, not her own wand, she thought bitterly. The wand of Bellatrix Lestrange.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 44
Kudos: 289
Collections: July - September Mad Frankenstein Fest 2020





	Unyielding

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Mad Frankenstein Fest organized by the DoF Discord Server. All artwork created by [@Ernestine88](https://ernestine88.tumblr.com/) (read on for her beautiful moodboard and illustration!)  
> The fest theme: Co-Workers  
> Our prompt: Duelists
> 
> Disclaimer: All characters from the Harry Potter universe belong to JK Rowling; italicized text on wand lore belongs to Rowling; no money is being made from this story.

“Do you yield?”

Sweat ran down Hermione’s face and back. Her chest rose and fell with each rapid breath she took. Her pulse raced, but her hand remained steady as it pointed the wand at the man on the floor below her.

“Yes. I yield.”

Though his pale face was pink with exertion as he lay splayed on his back, the man on the ground seemed supremely unconcerned with the wand aimed between his eyes. Instead, he grinned. Hermione returned the smile before lowering the wand and extending her hand out.

She gave a light tug of his large hand, and though Draco did not need her help to stand, the established tradition at this point in their partnership needed to be followed.

They bowed to each other, then bowed to the small crowd of Auror trainees gathered before them as the simulated environment dissipated around them, reverting from the edge of a volcano back to the unadorned training gymnasium of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.

“Well done!” boomed Harry’s voice over the light smattering of applause.

“Now,” he turned back to the group. “Who can tell me which non-verbal spell Ms. Granger used to finally dismantle Mr. Malfoy’s Shield Charm?”

As Harry eased into Head Auror mode with his trainees, Hermione and Draco took their leave of the dueling arena. This being only a demonstration day for the new recruits, they were dismissed to freshen up. Tomorrow they’d assist Harry with the hands-on portion of training the new Auror class in dueling, but for now they’d earned the rest of their day with the physical and magical energy involved in their dueling display.

“Good show today, Granger,” remarked Draco as they came upon the entrances to the men’s and women’s locker rooms. “Can’t believe I didn’t account for your clever transfiguration to make the molten rocks reflective,” he let out a chuckle and shook his head. “That Lumos just about blinded me.”

“Well, that _was_ the idea,” she replied cheekily and he playfully rolled his eyes.

“Drinks at the Leaky?” he suggested. Hermione checked her watch. “Sure, I think Harry’s only got about an hour left with this group, we can snag a table for everyone before the evening rush.”

Though it had been a productive and invigorating demonstration, in the privacy of the women’s showers in the bowels of the Ministry’s DMLE, Hermione’s resolve crumbled and the melancholy broke through, as it always did when she won the duel.

 _Do you yield?_ She hated uttering that phrase whenever she bested Draco, but it was the standard protocol for ending a duel wherein both participants remained conscious. Hermione could count the instances on one hand in the four years they’d been partners that one of them had been Stunned.

_Do you yield?_

It clawed at her. It ate at her to demand this of another person when her own wand carried with it such a conceptually contrary and dubious description. _Unyielding._

No, not her own wand, she thought bitterly. The wand of Bellatrix Lestrange.

 _Her_ wand. Walnut. Dragon heartstring. Twelve and ¾ inches. The wand that tortured Neville’s parents. The wand that killed Sirius. The wand that tortured her on a drawing room floor.

Hermione missed what she still thought of as her own wand. Vinewood. Dragon heartstring. Ten and ¾ inches. But the wand that chose her at age 11 now resided in a decorative velvet-lined box on her wardrobe.

Though Ron had been the one to disarm Bellatrix at Malfoy Manor, the Walnut wand never responded to him. Harry had once expressed the desire to destroy it all together, and perhaps the wand, sensing his intent, did not respond to him either. Hermione had only briefly practiced with the Walnut wand to impersonate Bellatrix at Gringotts, and though she could mostly command it, she’d made sure to use the Vinewood at the Battle of Hogwarts. Inexplicably, she kept Bellatrix’s wand, as part of her felt it unfair to the creation of Ollivander to simply throw away a masterfully crafted object, despite the horrors it inflicted.

But why, a few months after the end of the war, had her magic become slightly weaker? Charms wouldn’t stick as long. More complex spells wouldn’t quite hold. And all the while, the back of her mind knew exactly where Bellatrix’s wand still existed, shoved into a box in the corner of her closet.

Fed up with increasingly lackluster results with channeling her magic, she caved one day and pulled out the Walnut wand. A thrumming energy coursed through her, the likes of which she hadn’t felt since she was 11 years old, brand new to the world of magic and holding an instrument in her hand that just felt _right_. This wand had now chosen her.

This newfound connection with the Walnut wand then brought with it, of all things, a fantastic collegial partnership with Draco Malfoy.

* * *

With a wizarding world mostly at peace once again, what was the logical next step in the lives of Harry, Ron, and Hermione? Entering the Auror program once the Ministry had rebuilt and stabilized seemed the right choice for all three of them, initially. Harry flourished in his natural element; keeping Darkness at bay and excelling at training his colleagues with his two best friends by his side.

Ron broke first. The loss of Fred still haunted him and he needed some lightness back in his life. He left to partner with George at the joke shop and soon returned to the jovial, carefree friend of his pre-war years.

Hermione lasted only two months past Ron. It wasn’t the same without him and she found it difficult to connect with other Aurors, either second guessing their work or unable to trust them in the field the way she did Harry and Ron.

After carefully considering her alternate Ministerial options, she decided an office job would slowly strangle the life out of her. She needed a challenging and fulfilling career, but perhaps one that involved less paperwork and mind-numbing patrols of Diagon Alley while paired with an incessantly chattering Ernie Macmillan.

Dueling could satiate her thirst for creatively experimenting with magic. Hermione recalled the surge of excitement from her own orientation in the first few weeks as an Auror trainee; witnessing the dazzling display put on by one of the Ministry’s pair of dueling masters. She handed in her resignation as an Auror and her application to the Dueling Mastery program on the same day.

Hermione’s two-year stint as an Auror allowed her to bypass almost all of the rigorous requirements and prerequisites to qualify for a placement. She’d already passed the physical training and demonstrative spellcasting portion, which meant she’d only needed to sit for a written entrance exam on magical theory and an in-person interview. Professional duelists needed to fully grasp the origins of the magic at their disposal, how it was constructed or could be reinvented. As experts in spell theory, fully qualified masters could help create new forms of magic, were given space to research their abilities, and held the responsibility for preparing Aurors for combat. Dueling combined Hermione’s love of learning and teaching into one invigorating role and she almost cried tears of joy upon receiving her acceptance letter.

When the Ministry welcomed the applicants to the Mastery program, Hermione took stock of the rest of her class: about 20 or so witches and wizards of varying ages. She happened to lock eyes with the familiar face of Draco Malfoy, and though her expression registered an embarrassing display of shock at his presence, she managed to return his curt nod of a greeting.

Professional dueling, the masters explained to the assembled applicants, could not function as a solo act. It existed on a plane of duality, of both submission and dominance; to test one’s partner not with the purpose of breaking them, but exposing either vulnerabilities in need of bolstering or strengths in need of tempering. Experienced duelists should constantly seek to reinvent their spellcasting, experiment with different areas of magic, maintain their physical health, and ultimately, trust and respect their partner enough to know when to yield or demand they yield.

The desire to establish this type of indelible connection with another magical being burned through Hermione something fierce.

Over celebratory drinks with Harry and Ron after her first day, Hermione divulged everything she’d learned so far.

“I’m so proud of you Hermione,” enthused Harry, his green eyes brimming with sincerity. “And this means we’ll still get to work together!”

“ _If_ I obtain the Mastery. I have to complete the program first, Harry,” chided Hermione. “And it requires me to have a partner.”

“Oh please, Hermione,” scoffed Ron. “You’ll ace it, no question. Did you get a good feeling from any of the others there? I’ve heard dueling partnerships can be very—uh— _intense_.”

Hermione shrugged. “Today was just introductions, we’ll get our first partner assignments tomorrow.”

She took a measured swig of her drink and cast her eyes down at the table. “Malfoy was there. He’s one of the applicants,” she confessed cautiously, wondering what her friends would make of this news. When both remained silent for several long moments, Hermione chanced a glance back up at them. Ron seemed gobsmacked while Harry appeared resigned.

“How’d he even qualify?” asked an incredulous Ron once he’d found his voice again.

Hermione pursed her lips in annoyance. “I’m sure the same way as everyone else, Ronald. Honestly, it’s a bit impressive given the level of scrutiny his application probably received due to his name.”

Ron turned to Harry in disbelief who only shrugged in response. “Seriously? Look, I know you testified for him and all, but dueling’s a pretty prestigious career. Imagine if he’s paired with Hermione!”

Harry sighed and adjusted his glasses. “I’m actually the Auror that conducted his background check. He’s kept his nose clean for the past few years, Ron, I don’t see why the man can’t live his life now.”

Ron grumbled something about ferrets into his lager but let the matter drop. As they moved on to other topics, Hermione’s mind couldn’t help but keep wandering back to Malfoy. They’d be partnered eventually unless one of them found their true match first. What would it be like for their magic to mingle? The curious thought wouldn’t leave her alone long after she’d parted ways from her friends for the evening.

* * *

The masters randomly assigned sparring partners, to be rotated on a weekly basis, or until such time as pairs could be declared permanent based on compatibility. The first three weeks were torturous for Hermione. She disarmed or stunned her partners at such a swift rate that she barely flexed her magical muscles to have her first three opposing duelists yield to her. Ill-equipped to handle the strength of the spells sent their way, they went immediately on the defensive and remained so until Hermione forced them to yield. She mentally pushed aside the ugly thoughts that the Walnut wand bent so easily to her will and only seemed to grow more powerful each time.

She almost sent her very first partner through a solid brick wall with the barest swish of the wand not two minutes in to the duel.

Her second match-up didn’t fare much better—she had the other witch flat on her back several days in a row any time Hermione’s magic brushed her Shield Charm.

By the time she’d reached week three, Hermione had learned that the safest way to force a yield without severely injuring her partner was to Disarm as quickly as possible.

The force of her spells flew as easily as breathing from the end of her wand and could not seem to be tempered or countered by any of her fellow duelists as of yet. Slightly put out at the uninspiring sparring sessions, Hermione always waited around to observe the pairs that followed her, desperate to witness anything even slightly impressive.

Draco, it seemed, faced a similar problem with his assigned partners; astonishingly quick on the draw from his wand holster and almost blindingly fast in his casting. It resulted in his matches ending in a rather anti-climactic and swift Disarming of his opponents. She remembered he’d been a Seeker at school, and it showed in the quickness of his reflexes, the athletic grace of his movements, the speed of his wand arm. He dueled with a breathtaking elegance she’d heretofore not seen, even in just these brief glimpses of his skill.

In the fourth week of the program, Hermione was finally paired with Draco and eagerly anticipated how they might test their limits together. Their first match-up, the arena conjured a swamp-like environment. Hermione bested him in a matter of minutes with a well-timed _Incarcerous_ that she’d seen him dodge effortlessly in all his previous matches.

The same thing happened the following day in a simulated desert via Stinging Hex.

The next day she sent him whirling through the air of a faux tundra with a simple _Bombarda_ near his feet.

By the fourth day, after she’d taken him down along a heath-covered cliff edge with nothing but a standard Jelly Legs Jinx, fury scorched through her veins. Determined to confront his sudden turn to laziness, Hermione waited for Draco to emerge from the men’s locker room after yet another disappointingly easy duel.

He stood stock still as she pinned him to the spot with an accusatory glare.

“You’re holding back on me.”

“Yes.”

Her brain sputtered to a stop. Her follow-up arguments with supporting evidence died on her lips. She hadn’t expected him to acknowledge it so quickly.

“Why?”

He raised one pale eyebrow. “I should think that would be obvious.”

Hermione immediately flared up in a crackling combination of anger and hurt, her worst fears about Draco’s character confirmed.

“I’d like for you to elaborate. I want to hear you say exactly why you won’t treat me like the other duelists,” she said as calmly as she could manage.

Draco blinked, his face a marble mask. Impassivity in his features was another advantage he held in the dueling sphere; his ability to occlude his emotions made him difficult to read or predict how he might act next. But in the personal sector, it was beyond infuriating to figure out Draco’s true intentions.

“I don’t think it’s possible for me to treat you like everyone else,” he replied evenly.

“And again,” Hermione ground out. “I want to hear why. Exactly.”

His tongue poked out and moistened his lips and his eyes darted to either side of them. A small tell, but enough for Hermione to gather that she’d made him nervous. Uncomfortable.

Draco took a steadying breath and stared at a point somewhere over her shoulder.

“I don’t think we’ll be compatible as partners given our different—ah— _backgrounds_ …”

Still a coward, then. He wouldn’t even look her in the eye to tell her that after all this time her blood still made her inferior in his opinion. And though they could barely be called acquaintances at this point, the fact that Draco still held the belief that her heritage made her “dirty” or “unworthy” of her own magic stung.

“I see,” Hermione clipped. “You’d rather not waste your time training with a Mudblood. I’ll see if I can orchestrate a partner switch and—”

“That’s not what I meant at all.” Draco spoke in a sudden rush, his eyes finally connecting with hers. They were a bright and peculiar shade of gray, she noted, their singular, sparkling hue almost throwing her off balance as he trapped her in their first ever instance of prolonged eye contact.

Drawing on her well of fuming indignation, Hermione crossed her arms in front of her chest and waited for him to elaborate.

“Granger,” he said her name on a sigh. “After the way I treated you when we were kids… after everything that was done to you by my family,” Draco nodded his head in the direction of her wand, some of his still damp, white-blond hair flopping onto his forehead. “Did you really think I’d be comfortable throwing curses at you?”

Hermione took a startled step back, and tried to quickly grapple with his confession and the sincere contriteness in his expression. His face opened to her now, a haunted gaze she knew too well in her fellow war survivors. Not prejudice, then, but guilt held him back. Hermione had no use for such self-loathing nonsense.

“I am not interested in rehashing the past, Draco,” she asserted and those gray eyes flickered at the use of his given name. “I am interested in obtaining my mastery in dueling, and I need the best sparring partner available. I suspect that could be you.”

He smiled at her then. A real smile. Draco extended a long-fingered hand and Hermione shook it firmly. “You’re on then, Granger.”

Their next sparring match the following day, the magical arena conjured a lake frozen solid beneath their feet. Getting her bearings as the scenery appeared, Hermione could already spot a few patches of thin ice that would prove disastrous if encountered.

Draco fired the first hex; a simple Body-Bind to test her reflexes. She parried it easily. Having observed his previous matches, Hermione knew the best way to defeat him would be to get him off balance so he couldn’t rely on his speed. She swiftly shot several Blasting Hexes at the ice near his feet, forcing him to jump and slide around to more stable areas of the lake surface.

From a crouched position, Draco levitated the shards of ice from her blasts and sent them flying like daggers straight for her. Instead of dodging, Hermione transfigured the ice into harmless snow flurries, but then whipped the snow into a blizzard-like frenzy and sent it back to him.

Draco turned Hermione’s blizzard into a pile of white rags that unfurled to slither rapidly back towards her.

She set the insidious scraps ablaze and the tendrils formed a menacing, flaming ring around Draco. But before they could melt the ice around him, he’d harnessed the fire and sent it in a flurry of fireballs straight for her.

Hermione transfigured them into leaden cannonballs, intent on destroying all stable surfaces at his feet.

Cannonballs became harmless tumbleweeds that branched into spiked plant tendrils.

The prickly creeping branches became ropes with the intent to bind.

Ropes became straw and formed a towering figure of a scarecrow-like man that charged.

The advancing figure sunk into the freezing water via a quickly made hole in the ice, and then reemerged to charge back as a rampaging polar bear.

The bear shrunk in size to become a mewling kitten that performed a skidding about-face and sped back as it morphed into a growling white tiger.

Volley after magical volley, Hermione and Draco slipped and slid and dove as they flourished their wands to accept their opponent’s magic and manipulate it to either defend or attack.

It lasted for nigh on two hours. Finally, Draco split her charging bull into two hellhounds with gleaming red eyes. The hounds each took a different circuitous path to sprint towards Hermione, forcing her hand into choosing a direction in which to cast her defense. Draco pounced on her split second of indecision.

Taking advantage of her distraction, he shot off a furious combination of offensive magic: Stinging Jinx to her side, a Tickling Jinx, and a Tripping Jinx in stunningly rapid succession and Hermione found herself on her back on the ice. Draco apparated to tower over her prone body, one booted foot on her arm and his wand pointed at her face.

“Do you yield?” He seemed nervous, yet excited and though she was technically at his mercy, a giddiness bloomed within her. She’d found her partner.

“Yes. I yield.”

His grin widened and she knew then he’d felt the intrinsic bond between their magic, too. Draco removed his foot from her wand-arm and offered a hand to help her up.

Hermione bested him in the next three matches. He countered by besting her in the following two. After that, no one bothered to keep an official counting, as they were so evenly matched in skill. Their complementary strengths made them thrilling to watch, and it was any spectator’s guess as to which would force the other’s hand to yield on any given day.

Draco was quick. Hermione was powerful. For two people with rather large frontal cortices, and an insatiable thirst to prove themselves, their considerable egos never encroached upon their dueling capabilities. Yet, despite how fulfilling and meaningful this relationship became to her as they completed the program and became fully-fledged training masters, Hermione still found herself glaring at the wand as she stepped out of the shower chamber and redressed.

With each successful duel, each surge of her magic that so seamlessly intertwined with Draco’s, she felt an unease growing in her chest. Was it possible to become too powerful? How much of this was Hermione and how much of this power originated with the unyielding wand? How much further would this wand take her down a path of magical prowess? She’d never felt more connected to her magic and it only intensified the more she dueled and collaborated with Draco. But there would be a tipping point eventually, a price to pay for this gift, she felt sure of it.

With a heavy heart, she pocketed the wand and plastered a smile on her face to join her friends for an evening out.

\-------------------------------------------------

Hermione allowed herself to finally relax after a few drinks in good company. Harry arrived first, congratulating them both on another spectacular training demonstration. Ron’s girlfriend, Susan Bones showed up next, exhausted and in need of hard liquor after her shift at St. Mungo’s. Ron and Blaise Zabini rounded out tonight’s group, the unlikely pair of friends (though neither would openly admit to anything of the sort) having walked over from Diagon together.

Wand troubles forgotten for the time being, she tried not to snort with laughter as Ron regaled them with a raucous tale of George preventing a would-be shoplifter with a creative use of a Probity Probe, everlasting hair dye, and a Pygmy Puff.

“Gringotts still offering that theft insurance for small businesses?” Ron asked Blaise thoughtfully. As Blaise worked as a loan officer for the infamous bank and had incidentally helped George out with a bit of refinancing on the joke shop, Ron both easily accepted the former Slytherin into their social circle and trusted him on financial matters. Still, they weren’t _friends_.

As the conversation briefly turned to shop talk, Hermione excused herself to the restroom. But upon her return to the table, she halted when she heard her name, and chose to stay hidden just beyond the dark threshold where the hallway met the bar.

“…Hermione yet?”

Harry seemed to be asking a question about her, though she missed the specifics.

“I don’t see how that’s any of your business, Potter,” came the cold reply of Draco. He sounded tense, and the frostiness to his tone indicated he’d prefer Harry dropped this subject.

Ron piped up next. “You’ve been co-workers for what, four or five years now?”

“Dueling partners are much more than _co-workers_ , Weasley.”

“My point exactly, mate.”

Draco let out an irritated sigh. “Must we have this circular conversation every time we go out? You lot get deep in your cups, attempt to pry into my personal affairs, and inspire false hope. Can we just… leave it? For once?”

Harry snorted. “False hope, my arse. Hopeless, more like. The pair of you.”

Blaise came to Draco’s rescue then, changing the topic and Ron excused himself to the loo. Hermione suddenly realized Ron would be heading right to where she still lingered to eavesdrop. She hastily tried to make it seem as if she’d just come out of the ladies’, but he gave her a knowing grin and shook his head.

“You know Hermione, I really don’t know how for someone so determined you’re choosing to hesitate here. You don’t need anyone’s permission to be happy, so I’m buggered if I know why you won’t give yourself the permission you apparently need.”

Ron raised his eyebrows once at her, then walked past without waiting for a response or denial.

Hermione caught herself observing Draco more closely over the rest of the evening, to the point where he even asked if she felt all right. She waved him off and insisted she was simply tired and should probably make it an early night.

Alone in her flat later, sleep would not come easy as she reflected on her relationship with Draco.

Harry once remarked, in an oddly astute comment, that Draco and she didn’t really seem to be dueling at all, but almost dancing, despite the physical distance during a duel. Certainly, there were dancer-like qualities to their graceful movements; sharp turns and quick jumps, short-range pops of apparition, pointed swishes of their wands or circular motions that either manipulated or conjured the magic in their veins. Complementary moves and countermoves as curses were either cast or deflected.

Hermione, though she appreciated the poetry of the dance analogy, felt that she and Draco rather resembled artists.

A relationship of creation, not destruction; symbiotic in nature and interdependent in execution of their prodigious skills. They wove and blended their magic together, the different colored lights leaving the ends of their wands streaking and flying through the air in an endless hazy blur of brilliant color and wonder, seeking to test, to challenge. _Take what I offer you and build upon it, bend it to your will, morph it to suit your needs, or cast it aside and begin anew._ Their brushstrokes of reciprocal magic manipulated the physical environment that surrounded them as a living canvas.

Emotional intimacy and unwavering trust bled throughout this type of magic, and in the act of showing another person all your vulnerable points in one go while simultaneously flexing your strengths to target their weaknesses. She never felt more connected to anyone than during her time in the arena, dueling with Draco. To find one’s magical equal, there was nothing more exhilarating; an attraction that went beyond an appreciation of physical appearances. Not that she didn’t already have a healthy appreciation for his physicality (probably too healthy, if she were being honest), but much more than lust drew her to Draco.

Hermione was mature enough to admit that as their companionship grew outside of the confines of their work, she’d developed an affection for him that surged past the boundaries of friendship. She’d indulged in a shallow thought or two at his good looks and how fit he looked both in their dueling uniforms and pedestrian clothes, and admired how he retained an air of self-possession and confidence at all times. She relished in any lingering touches or glances from him, but he’d never given her any clear indication that he felt anything for her beyond platonic affection. That didn’t stop Hermione from occasionally fantasizing about how their emotional closeness and magical compatibility might translate into physical intimacy.

Her ears already knew the sound of him panting for breath, her eyes had beheld his athletic prowess and on a few fortunate opportunities, she’d felt his lean and lithe musculature pressed against her. She knew how he smelled both immediately following a grueling duel and the subsequent cleansing shower (both versions of his scent could be described as mouthwatering.)

 _Inspiring false hope._ That’s what he’d accused the others of doing in regards to her, and not for the first time it seemed. So perhaps the question now became, which one of them would yield first?

* * *

Something was off with Draco today. He seemed a step or two behind, immediately jumping to defense in a way she hadn’t witnessed since their first match together. After taking pity on him and softening her spells for a few rounds, she gave up and impatiently flicked her wand to Disarm him, putting an end to their practice.

But as she looked down her wand at him, she could scarcely get the poisonous words out of her mouth. She stared at him for a beat longer, a tortured expression on her features as he gazed back, also looking conflicted.

“Do… do you… yield?”

“Yes Granger,” his voice was quiet, resigned. “I yield.”

The soft spoken tone only enraged her further. Hermione yanked him up abruptly and stalked out of the arena, tugging him along all the way back to her office. She rounded on him the second he closed the door behind him.

“What in Merlin’s name has you so distracted today?”

“Me? You’re the one who could barely call an end to it!” Draco fired back indignantly. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed, you’ve hardly been able to push the words past your lips for weeks. What the hell is going on in that head of yours?”

She sucked in a startled breath at the way his statement sliced right to the heart of the matter. Hermione turned away from him, unable to face those intense gray eyes that could read her too well.

“Talk to me, please Granger.”

It was the “please” that got to her. Hermione squeezed her eyes shut, embarrassed that they’d filled with tears. She looked down at the wand in her fist.

“I never wanted this… this power to subdue, to dominate! I’ve only ever practiced magic as part of my natural abilities, an innate expression of… me. Being a witch is a privilege I’ve never taken lightly and the only times I’ve ever exercised my powers on an adversary were in self-defense. But I feel this power growing in me all the time, especially when we duel together and it feels… rapturous in a way I never knew existed, but you… you are not my adversary you’re my… my…”

Unable to articulate how much he meant to her, she swallowed before whirling around to finally face him. “Do you know how Ollivander once described this wand to me?”

Draco shook his head, an unreadable expression in his eyes.

“ _Unyielding_ , he called it. Do you know what unyielding means? Ruthless. Single-minded. Unrelenting.” She almost choked on the final word, “Merciless.”

Hermione looked up at him with desperate eyes. “What does this wand say about me? That it chose me?”

She slumped, defeated, against the edge of her desk. “Is that what I will become? Like Bellatrix, a slave to power? Am I so fated to lose my humanity to my magic?”

Hermione stared down at the floor. “I hate uttering that phrase to you. I don’t want to lose myself to this… but I think I’m more scared to lose what we have together.”

Silence reigned for a few long moments, Hermione terrified that she’d revealed too much. Finally, Draco cleared his throat.

“You just listed off an awful lot of synonyms there, but allow me to throw a few back at you,” he intoned, forcing Hermione to look up. “Unyielding also means stubborn. Headstrong. Tough. Determined. Staunch. Unswayable.”

He took a few steps closer to her. “The wand is just the instrument. The wielder has the choice of how to direct that power. And you Granger,” he stepped closer still. “Have only ever sought to wield your power for good. Power can corrupt, my family is proof positive of that. But perhaps this wand,” he pried it gently from her fingers and examined it briefly. “Perhaps this wand’s power just needed to be put back in the path of Light. And Granger let me be clear: you are that _unswayable_ force along that path of the Light.”

She wanted to believe him. Oh how badly she wanted to believe him, and even though his tone reeked of heartfelt sincerity, that niggling voice of doubt in her brain wasn’t so easily conquered.

“Some days I feel as if my own will is not enough. That there has to be a darker reason for keeping this wand’s allegiance,” Hermione whispered, but it wasn’t all she’d wanted to tell him. She wanted to tell Draco that he’d seen enough darkness in his life and she didn’t want to be another source of pain. She wanted to tell Draco that when she felt the combining of their magic in the arena it made her blood sing. She wanted to tell Draco that standing this close made her head spin and dangerous thoughts roam her mind; thoughts of how his mouth and body might yield to her taste and touch or perhaps she might find bliss by yielding to his.

Draco pressed the wand back into her hand.

“No one really knows, why particular wands choose their owners. I’ve studied the topic extensively myself,” he admitted softly. 

Draco held up his own wand in front of her eyes. “This wand. My wand. It changed allegiance at the right time in history, gave itself over to Potter. It chose him and thank Merlin it did, because this bit of wood is the instrument that felled the Dark Lord. And I’m sure Potter’s told you what happened after.” Hermione nodded, but he continued anyway. “After he’d repaired his original wand, mine stopped working for him. Its fated task complete, it belonged to me again.”

He stared down at her a moment longer before turning to leave. As Draco opened the door, he paused at the threshold and called over his shoulder, “And if you’re wondering why I’m so distracted of late… I think you’ll find the word unshakable another fitting descriptor for you. I’ll never be able to shake your hold of me, and I don’t think I’ll ever want to.”

He left then without waiting for a reply, and Hermione remained with the wand hanging limply in her grip and an aching in her chest.

* * *

She hadn’t seen him yet that morning, which was a rarity, and part of Hermione worried he sought to avoid her given their confessional conversation yesterday. Doubt plagued her mind as the day progressed until Draco suddenly burst into her office holding a doorknob in a handkerchief.

“Granger, come here, this activates in one minute!”

Hermione rushed around her desk as he thrust the portkey in her direction.

“What’s going on? Where are we going? We have a demonstration in a few hours!”

Draco shook his head. “We’ll be back in plenty of time, I’ve only got us a two-hour scheduled visit.”

“And may I ask where you’re abducting me to in the midst of a work day?”

“The Library of Alexandria.”

Before Hermione could properly react to the bombshell he dropped, Draco grabbed her hand and touched it to the glowing portkey along with his own.

She felt the tugging sensation behind her navel and in a blink, found herself slack-jawed in front of the most magnificent library she’d ever seen. The Library of Alexandria had a firm place atop her travel bucket list for several years running, but time slots for international portkeys were both rare and expensive.

Hermione turned to Draco in stupefied awe. “How did you manage this?”

He shrugged and tugged her along after him up the marble steps. “It’s much easier to secure a mid-week slot, and I only reserved a quick visit,” he said offhand, but Hermione suspected he also tossed a whole lot of Malfoy gold at the International Portkey Office to make this happen.

As they entered the building, Hermione tried to take in the cathedral high ceilings, the glass windows that let in the perfect amount of sunlight, ancient tapestries and works of art, the floating scrolls and soaring books all around, and an aged parchment behind a velvet rope that allowed visitors to request the precise row and shelf numbers of books on any topic of their choosing, but Draco seemed a man on a mission.

“Not now you little swot, I’ve got something very specific in mind. You can wander to your heart’s content after.”

They walked silently for a few minutes until Draco stopped them at the head of the section labeled “Wand Lore.” Halfway down the aisle, he’d apparently located what he wanted to show her and released her hand.

“After we talked yesterday, I wasn’t completely sure that I’d gotten through to you. I wanted to bring you here so the message could truly sink in.”

Hermione’s heart rate sped up in an anxious rhythm even as she fought a laugh. Merlin, only this man would orchestrate an impromptu trip to an ancient and revered site of learning just to prove a point.

“When I assigned those words to you yesterday, I wasn’t just paying you lip service. That’s what I believe your _unyielding_ wand says about you. Not that you lack mercy or that something sinister lurks in the depths of your soul. You are unyielding in your capacity for kindness and goodness and,” he swallowed hard, “and love. And that, Hermione, is what makes you so powerful.”

Rendered speechless, she could only watch as he plucked a tome off the shelves. It was a familiar text, _The Essentials of Wandmaking by Garrick Ollivander,_ detailing the basics of the craft and the various attributes assigned to certain woods and the properties associated with different magical cores.

Draco opened the book and skipped to a precise page, then cleared his throat and read out:

_“Readers should bear in mind that each wand is the composite of its wood, its core and the experience and nature of its owner; that tendencies of each may counterbalance or outweigh the other.”_

Hermione could scarcely remember how to breathe let alone comprehend the lesson he sought to impart, especially with how seductive the low timbre of his voice sounded while reading.

“Your old wand and your current one are both dragon heartstring cores, yes?” Draco asked and she could only nod mutely. He licked the pad of his finger to turn the page and Hermione suppressed a rather indecent sound.

_“As a rule, dragon heartstrings produce wands with the most power, and which are capable of the most flamboyant spells. Dragon wands tend to learn more quickly than other types. While they can change allegiance if won from their original master, they always bond strongly with the current owner. The dragon wand tends to be easiest to turn to the Dark Arts, though it will not incline that way of its own accord.”_

Draco looked up at her expectantly. “Don’t you see?” he breathed excitedly. “You’re in control Granger. Magic is all about intention. Simply because the potential is there does not make your powers Dark.”

He gave her that rare and affable smile of his that she’d grown to covet.

“My wand is Hawthorn. Ten inches. The core is unicorn hair,” Draco recited. He then flipped the book around in his hands and held it out for her to take. “Read this section aloud for me, start at the beginning of the second paragraph.”

She read, “ _Unicorn hair generally produces the most consistent magic, and is least subject to fluctuations and blockages. Wands with unicorn cores are generally the most difficult to turn to the Dark Arts. They are the most faithful of all wands, and usually remain strongly attached to their first owner, irrespective of whether he or she was an accomplished witch or wizard_.”

When she’d finished the passage, Hermione looked up to find his gaze burning through her.

“I was a man adrift after the war, and because I didn’t like who I was nor my own company… I would escape to here,” he waved a hand around to indicate the Library. He took the book back and stared down at the tome almost in reverence.

“I cannot tell you how many times I visited this section, simply to read these words. The weight it lifted… you’ve no idea, and I don’t think I can properly explain how much it meant to know that I wasn’t predestined to be evil. That perhaps my wand chose me, chose my magic, for a reason and the reason was not because I was born to serve Dark magic. This wand recognized that there was some capacity for goodness within me.”

Draco took a steadying breath and re-shelved the book. He turned back to her, his silver eyes looking both pained and hopeful as they met hers.

“The only other time I’ve ever felt that way, is when I am with you.”

He’d barely finished speaking before Hermione grabbed him by the lapels and pushed him back against the towering stacks. Draco willingly, eagerly accepted her lips, his approval of this new physical facet to their relationship evident in the way he sighed into her mouth and raked his hands through her curls.

And their kissing became like their dueling; fast and powerful all at once. A push and a pull, a give and take, and it’s so startlingly clear that their compatibility extends beyond the arena as their mouths and hands instinctively understand when the other is willing to surrender while taking the lead as new avenues of exploration open up. Flashes of brilliant color flew behind her closed eyelids as Draco repeatedly tasted her with gentle flicks of his tongue between her lips. Hermione responded in kind as they both alternately ceded and reclaimed control of the passionate tempo of the kiss.

Just as he pulled her even closer, hips connected and their bodies molded to one another, a klaxon-like sound rang out and they sprang apart in alarm. Suddenly, they’re surrounded by several ancient-looking and absolutely furious librarians, shaking their fists and wands at them and though Hermione cannot understand them, their message is loud and clear.

A red-faced Hermione and a sheepishly grinning Draco were escorted out of the sacred place by this infuriated group of book guardians, and Hermione has never been more embarrassed in her life. Draco, for his part, laughed until his eyes watered and when Hermione demanded just what was so funny he gasped out, “Granger I don’t know if you understood any of that, but we’ve just been handed a lifetime ban for ‘defiling the written word with our carnal display.’”

“Banned!” she exclaimed. “But I—!”

“Relax, Granger,” Draco cut her off. “I’ll take you again in a year or two. We can register the portkey in Mother’s name next time.”

He held out their return portkey for her to touch and they were instantly back in her office. Now that the levity of the moment had passed, Draco seemed at a loss for words. He wasn’t often awkward, and it is this endearingly rare shyness that emboldened Hermione.

She approached him slowly, giving him ample opportunity to back away if uninterested, but Draco held his ground. She placed her hands against his chest, her intent to continue what they’d started in the library clearly spelled out in her gaze.

Draco’s throat bobbed in a swallow, even as his hands came to grip her hips. “Don’t we have to get back to the arena?”

Hermione shook her head with a mischievous grin. “No, Draco. We still have 20 minutes and I’m feeling rather like my wand right now.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Oh?’

“Single-minded,” she replied and ran her hands up his chest and locked them behind his neck. “Determined.”

Hermione tilted her head up and stopped mere centimetres from his lips. “Do you yield?” she whispered.

“Yes, Granger. I yield.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to our lovely mods for hosting this fest! If you enjoyed this work, please feel free to leave a kudos/comment and make sure to check out the other fantastic works in this collection!
> 
> If you're so inclined, stop by tumblr to say hello to myself ([@heyjude19-writing](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/heyjude19-writing)) and my awesome artist partner [@Ernestine88](https://ernestine88.tumblr.com/).


End file.
